


Runaway

by unnbrella



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnbrella/pseuds/unnbrella
Summary: Her head and face are throbbing with pain, and it feels like her nose is on fire. She doesn’t even know what she looks like right now, or how bad the bruises are. There may be some dried blood around her nostrils, but she decides not to pay much attention to it. It’s not a big deal. Modern AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back with the walking dead!! Well, for now. This is something that was already half written and I finally decided to finish it after like almost a year of not writing. Also, if any of y’all are up to date with my other stories, my plan is to continue writing for Take Me Far Away From Here very soon!
> 
> Anyways, this is just an idea I had. One of those ‘what-ifs’.
> 
> *This is a modern AU story. Also Clementine is 12 years old here.

One hand grips the strap of her backpack and the other holds her skateboard tucked underneath her arm. She’s wearing a dark over-sized jacket that nearly lengthens down to her knees, but she’d rolled the sleeves up so they don’t completely cover her small hands. It clearly wasn’t meant for someone her size, _or_ meant to be worn by a girl either, but she’d never preferred ‘girls’ clothing much, anyway.

The line shifts as she waits, shuffling another step forward when the person in front of her moves up. She anxiously glances around in her spot.

It’s early morning, and the city of Atlanta is bustling with the sounds of chatter, barking dogs, and honking cars. She couldn’t be more used to the active atmosphere though, of which she had only expected to be even more chaotic on a weekend, and she suddenly wishes it were a different day.

The young girl faces forward again, glancing past the tall line of people in front of her and towards the driver that sits at the front of the bus. She bites her lip, hoping he won’t recognize her.

Eventually, she reaches the front and the person before her disappears onto the rumbling vehicle. She flashes her bus pass at the man after rising onto the steps, merely holding it up to her face in between two fingers then down and away from sight again.

Avoiding eye contact, she attempts to quickly brush by without a word, but a burly hand suddenly extends out in front of her before she’s even able to reach the top of the stairs.

“Uh-uh, no way,” interjects the driver, shaking his head at her.

She freezes in her tracks, exhaling slowly in defeat. Then she spins on her heel as if the motion alone is exhausting, making an effort to roll her eyes _before_ completely facing him.

“I ain’t givin’ no rides to runaways,” he continues in a gruff voice before she’s even able to ask.

For a moment, she only stares back at him. He has a dark mustache, head nearly free of hair and is especially overweight. There’s no amusement in his vacant expression as he sits with his knees spread wide behind the wheel.

He looks as if he couldn’t give a shit about his job, and the girl wonders why he had bothered to stop her when everyone else had been let on with hardly even a glance their way. “Are you serious?” jeers Clementine in disbelief.

“You heard me,” states the driver. “Off,” he nods his head towards the doorway she stands stuck in front of.

“Wh—you can’t do that!” she exclaims, frustration rising in her tone.

She considers denying his accusation, then realizes that the overflowing backpack she wears and the fact that she’s nearly half the size of everyone else here makes her stick out like a sore thumb. Not that a kid her age riding alone on a bus isn’t unusual, but the unfortunate hold up that’s now catching eyes only enforces that fact even more.

“Come on, now. I ain’t gonna encourage that shit,” he says, “And your mother sure as hell ain’t gonna be worried sick about you this time. Not if I can help it.”

“That’s not fair! I have a right to ride this bus, just like everyone else!” defends Clementine, her voice tiny compared to his. “Look, I even have a real bus pass this time, see?” she reminds, scrambling to hold it up to his face once more with pride, but the man is hardly even looking her way.

“Look, little missy, don’t make me tell you again,” the driver warns, far from convinced. “My bus, my rules.”

“Come on, man, this doesn’t even _affect_ you,” Clementine groans, practically whining as her shoulders fall in disappointment. “Just let me on today and—and after that, I _swear_ , you’ll never have to see me again.”

He sighs heavily with a roll of his eyes, and a few moments pass by where he remains unresponsive, as if he doesn’t know what else to tell her.

Clementine glances to the group of people already sitting on the bus, realizing that nearly all their lingering eyes are now fixed on her. All that can be heard now is the loud grumbling of the bus, and she’s suddenly conscious of the line of people also waiting behind her.

He shoots her a final glance before tiredly peering through the front window instead, indicating that the conversation is over. “Go home, kid.”

Clementine stares after him, her jaw slightly open. _What home_ , she wonders?

There’s a faint chuckle from somewhere at the back of the vehicle, and the embarrassment of the situation is suddenly evident in the color of her cheeks.

Her lips are then pressed together, blinking out of her bewilderment. She briefly glares at the rest of the bus, then without another word, she huffs in annoyance before quickly turning back the way she came.

His reasoning is obviously unfair. It shouldn’t be any of his business where people are going or where they’ve been, but Clementine is fully aware it had been _completely_ personal. She doesn’t doubt it considering it isn’t the first time the two have run into each other over similar issues.

The girl keeps her head low, her small form nearly swallowed by the crowd of people as she pushes her way off the bus. She’s so angry she doesn’t bother to say ‘excuse me’, and no one acknowledges her as they all move forward in line.

The ambiance of assorted chatter reaches her ears again as Clementine begins to pace down the sidewalk. The large screeching doors close shut somewhere behind her, and she slows at the sound.

She peers over her shoulder as the bus takes off down the road, watching it drive farther away. She faces forward again while muttering under her breath, “Asshole.”

Briefly adjusting her baseball cap, Clementine chucks her skateboard onto the pavement and hops onto it just as it hits the ground. She accelerates down the sidewalk while swerving around multiple pedestrians, firmly holding onto the straps of her backpack.

As part of her had predicted, the bus had been a no-go. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been kicked off or out of somewhere, but Clementine decides she’ll just have to take the train. The station is nearly half way across the city, but it’ll have to do.

Eventually, she swerves around the corner of a building and into a familiar alleyway numerous blocks down. Hopefully it’ll be a shortcut around the busy sidewalks. The moment she enters is when all the noises around her instantly die down.

She skids to a stop, stepping onto the end of her skateboard and kicking it upwards, catching it in her hand without a glance. She appreciates the quiet of the empty alley, the shadows of the buildings on either side cascading down as she walks.

The gravel crunches underneath her boots, and she keeps a hand buried within her pocket as her gaze remains fixed on her own shoes.

When she nears the opposite end of the alley where the sunlight reaches the pavement again, she begins to hear faint laughter from the main sidewalk, gradually growing louder by the second. She tilts her chin up, her eyes meeting the source of the noise just as a group of middle-schoolers round the corner into the alley.

“Ahh, shit,” Clementine groans to herself, instantly recognizing who she now has no choice but to confront.

She sees them before they do, the group too caught up in their own shouting and obnoxious laughter to notice her standing a distance away. There’s four of them, and they’re all boys – boys from Clementine’s school that she’d never consider herself friends with. They’re the same age as her. Taller, but in the same grade. Yet, they think they’re twice as old as they really are.

The thought of turning around had crossed her mind, but there’s no way they won’t stop her if she did. So Clementine slows, facing them just as they finally notice her.

“Oh, shit! Check it out, guys,” the boy in the front, Noah – raises his hand up, halting the rest of them in their tracks once he finally lays eyes on the girl.

His hair is short, dark blonde with blue eyes and has a slim figure. He wears a denim jacket with his hands stuffed into both pockets, and a cigarette limply hanging between his lips. He’s holding back a snicker, his grin far from friendly as the rest of them don’t bother hiding their pleased expressions.

Clementine brushes her tongue across her teeth, resisting the roll in her eyes. Already far from amused and fully aware of their intentions, she wishes they would just cut the theatrics.

“If it isn’t our favorite little ray of sunshine,” slyly remarks another one of the boys, Sam, as they eventually saunter to a stop in front of her.

“How you doin’, Clem?” smirks Noah with false kindness. “Life still treating you well?”

“Incredibly,” Clementine glares dangerously at him, already fed up with their ill-indented greeting.

“Back for more?” asks Sam. “You didn’t smoke it all _already_ , did you?”

“Yeah, speaking of, where’s that money owe me?” Noah suspiciously squints at her as he takes a drag of his cigarette, his other hand buried in his jacket pocket.

“I don’t have it,” she says, her voice neutral.

“Uh, oh,” she faintly hears from one of the boys that shadow their leader.

“Hey, where you going, anyway?” he changes the subject with a raised chin, attempting to mask his un-satisfaction with her answer. “You’re saying you packed a bag that big and you don’t have any cash?” He snatches for the backpack she wears, but Clementine is quick to jolt away, avoiding his hand.

“I said I don’t have it,” the girl insists, anger rising in her tone.

Noah’s eyes scale her up and down for a moment, taking note of her skateboard and how rushed she clearly is to leave. “What, you running away or some shit?” His eyes widen in realization. “Oh, I see, you were gonna leave without paying me what you owe me.” It’s more of an accusation than a question.

“What? No—that’s not… it’s not like that,” she defends, but she can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re unconvinced. “Look, I couldn’t give two shits about you _or_ your money.”

“Right, but you didn’t give a shit about that weed I sold you, is that it?” His tongue twirls around his cigarette, the strong smell reaching her nostrils.

“Just give it to him, Clem, you know you can’t run away from this one,” one of them advises, a taunting chuckle hidden underneath his words.

“That’s what kids like you do, isn’t it?” Noah presses upon noticing how she avoids eye contact with them all. He gives her a chance to respond, but she doesn’t say anything. “You’re just a sad little orphan girl, aren’t you?”

Clementine closes her eyes in annoyance and inhales sharply, physically feeling those words pierce her soul. “Don’t.” Her voice is barely audible, yet dangerous as ever.

“That _is_ what you are, isn’t it? Who doesn’t have anything better to do but run away from her problems,” he’s unfazed by her warning.

“Fuck you, Noah,” bites Clem, glaring at him from underneath her heavy eyebrows.

“Oh, shit!” gasps one of the boys, excited giggles emanating among the three of them.

Clementine ignores their reaction. “How about you mind your own goddamn business and go back home to your deadbeat dad?” she nags without hesitance, her voice rising so everyone can hear.

“Hey, you better watch your fucking mouth!” Stepping forward, her jabs a threatening finger in her direction. “Don’t think I won’t hit you just ‘cause you’re a girl.” He approaches her, their bodies now inches apart. Clementine’s stern expression doesn’t falter when his tall figure looms over her, fully aware of how short she is compared to him. The boy shoves her in the shoulders, making her stumble backwards. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Well, guess what? You’re not,” he hisses at her. “You’re nothing.”

“Shut up!” shouts Clem, steam rising within her.

“Or what? You gonna _cry_ , orphan girl?” he challenges, clearly enjoying himself. “You don’t got no one to go home and cry to! Your parents aren’t—"

Clementine jabs a fist into his face, his sentence immediately cutting off when his head is swung to the side. He doesn’t fall, only stumbles a few steps away.

“Oh, fuck,” gasps one of the boys. Clem can hear the three of them reacting in shock to what just happened, but she ignores them completely.

Before she knows it, Noah’s fist is being launched back at her and Clementine whimpers from the impact. She’s hardly able to react before she finds herself forcefully being shoved onto the hood of a nearby parked car. Her back slams into it with a thud, but her arms are fighting against his. They struggle against each other, grunting, and his friends are cheering and shouting somewhere nearby, causing a riot.

“Yeah! Come on, Noah, fuckin’ get her!”

With strained effort, Clementine manages to push him off her but they both fall to the hard ground as a result. She straddles him with a leg on each side, wasting no time in continuously striking her fists at him, finally having him pinned.

She doesn’t know how long she pummels him and is hardly even listening to the shouting around her. She’s so focused on making him pay for what he said that she almost doesn’t even realize when Sam shouts under his breath. “Shit, cops!”

It isn’t until then that the distant sirens fade into her ears, but neither her nor Noah do anything to stop their previous doing. Clementine grunts when the boy pulls her by the hair, fighting to push her off him.

“Noah, knock it off!”

“Forget it, man, we gotta go!” exclaims one of the boys with panic in his voice. The sirens are getting louder, becoming painful to the ears.

Noah flips her over onto her back, Clem’s head slamming onto the gravelly pavement. She grunts.

“Hey, hey, break it up!” shouts a deep and demanding voice from somewhere to her right, getting closer by the second.

Clementine’s vision goes black for a moment and all she can hear is a series of shuffling footsteps, realizing that the weight of Noah had somehow been pulled off her. “Go, go, go!” she hears one of the boys mutter frantically.

“ _Hey_ , get back here!” yells another burly voice nearby, and heavy footsteps run in the opposite direction, fading away from her.

For a few moments, all becomes quiet around her, and she realizes she’s been left alone. When Clementine slowly opens her eyes again, her blurry vision is met with a tall, dark figure looming over her. His hands are planted on his hips, his head shaking in disappointment. She moans in pain.

“Ah, shit…” the man mutters once identifying the girl at his feet. “What in God’s name have you gotten yourself into _this_ time, Clementine?”

With Clem’s eyes squinted and her mind a haze, she finally registers the situation and recognizes the familiar face peering down at her; Officer Pete. She wouldn’t say she’s entirely pleased to see him.

“All right. Up you go, little darlin’,” he sighs exasperatedly and offers a helping hand. “I hate to be the one to have to do this, but… it’s off to the station with you, kid.”

Dropping her head back onto the pavement, Clementine groans in annoyance.


	2. Chapter 2

Clementine holds an ice pack to her cheek as she waits. She’s slouched in a chair with her knees wide apart, and her baggy jacket hangs off of one shoulder. Her head and face are throbbing with pain, and it feels like her nose is on fire. She doesn’t even know what she looks like right now, or how bad the bruises are. There may be some dried blood around her nostrils, but she decides not to pay much attention to it. It’s not a big deal.

“Clementine… did you start the fight?” Pete’s gruff voice reaches her ears again after a while. The officer speaks softly from his seat next to her, but the girl only erupts into a defensive anger.

“Wh—he was talking shit!” the girl perks up in her seat, turning to the man with an appalled expression.

“ _Language_ ,” his voice overpowers her own. Pete’s piercing eyes are enough of a warning to silence her.

Clementine melts back into her seat, huffing. She crosses her free arm across her chest and mumbles under her breath while looking in the opposite direction. “You’re not my dad, you know.”

They’re sitting in the lobby of the police station, a group of empty chairs lined up next to them. Multiple people have walked past them since they arrived, all having their own hushed conversations. She can faintly hear the woman at the front desk talking on the phone somewhere behind her, along with the sound of papers shuffling. Still, she doesn’t look at anyone or anything.

Pete’s been trying to speak to her since he found her in the alley, but the girl was clearly in no mood to co-operate during their ride in the police car. She keeps finding some way to brush him off, and only accepted the ice pack she’s holding to her face because the man persisted so much.

“I didn’t do anything,” she mutters quietly.

Pete readjusts himself in his chair with a slow inhale, debating how to go about this. “Now, judgin’ by the last time... I find that hard to believe,” he states matter-of-factly, and both of them know he’s right. “First, it was vandalism, then private property…”

Clementine purses her lips. She would hardly consider a can of spray paint a big deal. She’d been told to do it by the kids at school, but still got the blame for it anyway.

She knows what he’s trying to say. If Clementine had done all those things back then, why should she be any different this time?

“I’m gettin’ tired of seeing you in these walls, Clementine. So, why don’t you make this easy for both of us? Did you or did you _not_ start the fight?” repeats Pete.

Clementine resists the urge to scoff at that. She just shakes her head, finding this entire situation ridiculous and unbelievable. Of course he wouldn’t believe her, nobody ever does. Why does the blame always have to be on her for some reason? Even when low-life douchebags like Noah are the ones that deserve it?

So many thoughts are cramming in her head at once, so many arguments and biting comments she could make right now, but she chooses to remain silent anyway. There would be no point in trying to defend herself anymore.

“I’m disappointed in you, Clementine,” Pete shakes his head. His statement is evident in his tone.

Clem’s eyes begin to tear up, and she finds herself practically leaping out of her chair in an outburst. “Are you kidding me? It’s not my fault! He started—”

“Clementine!” Shouts a female voice.

Clem snaps her head towards the front doors of the station, her sentence cutting off once she hears the familiar sound of the woman. She becomes paralyzed as she watches Christa burst into the building and stride towards her. Her purse hangs off her shoulder and she’s clearly out of breath. A sliver of relief nestles in Clementine’s chest, and she thinks that the woman is actually happy to see her judging from the worry in her voice. It isn’t until Christa speaks again that her so-called hope is completely shattered.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with concern. She comes to a stop in front of Clementine and Pete, who has also risen from his chair upon her arrival. Christa pays no attention to the Officer, though.

_Of course. Why would Christa say anything else other than something like that?_

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” mumbles Clementine.

“I can’t believe you. I am _sick_ of this, do you hear me?” Christa continues, as if she didn’t even hear what Clem just said.

She imagines Christa would at least show a little concern for the way her face looks right now.

“Do you have _any_ idea how sick I am of getting calls from the goddamn _police_ station, saying you’ve been brought here for doing God knows what when you’re not at home?” Christa is trying to keep her voice down out of consideration for the other people in the building, but a few concerned faces still end up glancing their way. Anyone would be able to sense Pete’s discomfort as he stands silent amongst the ranting woman. “This is the second time this month! And now you’re picking fights with kids in _alleyways_?”

Clem bows her head in shame, avoiding eye contact. She doesn’t have a sliver of motivation to speak anymore. No matter what she were to say, it would only make the woman more upset with her.

If this had happened a few years ago, Christa would’ve bolted through those doors and pulled Clem into a tight hug, asked her if she was okay and demanded the boy suffer the consequences for hurting her. Yet, if it were a few years ago, Clementine wouldn’t have gotten herself into this in the first place.

“How many times have I told you? You can’t keep getting yourself into fights like this. One of these days you’re gonna get yourself _seriously_ hurt, Clementine, do you understand?”

She _used_ to show concern, until it kept repeating. Some times wouldn’t be as bad as others, like stealing from the liquor cabinet for example. Christa had caught her doing that a couple times now. Clementine knows Christa has a lot on her hands, she always has. But she feels that all she is to her now is a burden. She’s just one more thing that Christa has to deal with.

Not taking in any of the words that are being said to her, Clementine finds her gaze wandering and settling on Christa’s large stomach directly in front of her. The woman couldn’t look more pregnant. It appears as if it’s about to burst any moment now with how big it is. A part of Clem wishes it would, just so she wouldn’t have to deal with the woman’s mood swings all the time.

She hates the fact that she’s bringing a baby into this world when she doesn’t even have time for Clem. Maybe Christa hates her, and that’s why she got pregnant in the first place. To replace her or something like that.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” demands the woman.

Clementine looks up at her then, snapped out of her thoughts, but Pete is quick to save the girl from having to speak.

“Mrs. Thomas, I think it would be best if we took this into my office,” he suggests in a calming tone.

So, the three of them shuffle down the hall and Pete sits in front of his computer, while Christa and Clementine sit on the opposite side of his desk. Clem explains to them everything that happened and Pete types it all up on his computer, saying that he will have to file a report because of the minor injuries on Clementine’s face.

After that, Pete thanks the girl for her co-operation and Christa seems to have calmed down by now. The woman holds out her keys with hardly even a glance. “Go wait in the car, Clem,” says Christa, clearly still too upset to look her in the eye.

Clementine obliges without a word, accepting the keys and shamefully walking out the office door as Christa remains in her chair.

After she leaves, she can still hear Christa’s voice from her spot in the hallway. “I am _so_ sorry, Officer Pete, really. I’ll talk to her. I didn’t wanna have to waste your time. But I promise, she won’t do it again.”

Clementine slows to a halt, listening to their faded conversation.

“It’s just… she hasn’t been the same since her parents died,” Christa continues, her voice becoming softer as if she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

“Well, what can I say, Miss? She’s a tough kid… despite the circumstances and all. She reminds me of my nephew when he was that age,” Pete remarks in a low voice. “Hell, it ain’t easy growin’ up these days, that’s for sure.”

“Have you talked to the boy’s parents?” asks Christa. She knows it isn’t the first time Clem has gotten into trouble with Noah.

Clementine somberly continues her path down the hallway, deciding she doesn’t want to listen anymore.

* * *

She watches as the first few water droplets of rain trail down the car window, the clouds just beginning to darken above them. She stares at them aimlessly as she sits in the back seat, tiredly leaning her body against the door. Uncomfortably readjusting the ice pack on her face, her hand has become numb from the cold. All that is heard between the girl and Christa is the sound of the wheels on the road they drive on.

Neither of them have spoken since they’d gotten into the car and drove away from the station. Clementine figured that Christa had already said all she’d wanted to say. It usually ends up like this – the two of them just completely avoiding each other all together instead of resolving their problems. But Clementine finds she’s too tired right now to care.

“Clem, honey…” Christa unexpectedly breaks the silence from the front seat, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Clementine peers in her direction.

“I know what you’re going through right now. And I understand if you… need your own space. But I need you to understand that I’m just worried about you, is all,” she continues softly.

She can’t see Christa’s face from the back seat, but she notices the woman’s eyes continuously glancing at her in the rear-view mirror with concern.

“I know you haven’t accepted me as your mom, yet…”

Clementine looks away, her gaze peering out the rainy window again.

Christa sighs softly. “But I still look at you as my daughter and even though you may think I don’t, I just want you to be safe.” She waits for a response from the girl but still doesn’t receive one. “You can’t keep doing things like this, Clementine, you know that. Can you just… promise me you’ll at least _try_ to do better?” She peers through the rear-view mirror once more, waiting for a response.

Clementine doesn’t say a word the whole ride home.

* * *

When Christa opens the front door to the house, the place is bustling with the sound of shouting and laughing children filling the vastness of the place. Some of them dart back and forth in front of the door, running carelessly through the house and completely oblivious to the two who just entered. There’s a dog barking from the kitchen and loud rock music blaring from upstairs.

Clementine’s sister – Sarah, greets her the moment they walked in. Well, her foster sister. The house consists of two parents, Christa being one of them and her husband Omid, and ten children of a variety of ages up until eighteen, soon to be eleven with Christa’s baby on the way. There are six girls and four boys. Clementine is one of the middle children, the oldest being a seventeen year old boy named Daniel.

“Clem! You’re back!” Sarah exclaims with excitement, the only one who seems to notice their arrival. She’s practically shouting over all the noise. Her black hair is braided on either side and her bangs frame the bright red glasses she wears.

Clem wouldn’t say she isn’t excited to see the girl. She considers Sarah to be the one she’s closest to, or sometimes the _only_ one. It’s nice to know that at least Sarah is happy to see her.

“Whoa… what happened to your face?” grimaces Sarah.

“Noah got the jump on me,” Clementine admits unenthusiastically as Christa closes the door behind them and hangs up her jacket. Clem hates the crowded atmosphere of their home, but it’s so normal for them that nobody even notices anymore.

“Hey, no running in the house!”

“Again?” asks Sarah, ignoring Christa’s yelling in the background.

“Yeah,” exhales Clem. “Wait… you knew I was gone?” She hadn’t told anyone she’d left. She thought no one would notice her absence. There are so many people in this house that no one ever pays attention to her or her whereabouts.

“Well, yeah. Duck told us—"

“He _what_?!” Clementine suddenly drops her skateboard and backpack at her feet and bolts past Sarah. She races up the stairs two steps at a time, dodging one of her siblings on the stairs who happened to be walking in the opposite direction.

“Ooooh, Clem got busted…” she ignores his teasing comment, but nearly bumps into another figure as she rushes down the narrow hallway.

She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, none of them even trying to hide how they laugh at her as she bounds down the hall. The screeching sound of an electric guitar is emanating from one of the rooms she passes.

“Oh, great, look who it is. Almost didn’t make it back in one piece, hey, Clem?”

“Can it, Becca!” Clem bites back without slowing her feet. She dismisses her sister’s mocking tone, fully aware the teen is only making fun of her bruised face. She would expect nothing less from her.

When Clementine bursts into their bedroom, the first thing she sees is Duck lounging in front of his computer screen with headphones on his head and his back completely turned to her.

“ _Ow_!” he jolts around in his chair when the young girl punches his arm. “Jesus, Clem, why you gotta be so violent?” he whines, rubbing his own shoulder in pain.

Duck, or Kenny Jr., is the closest Clem has to a big brother. He’d been sent to the foster home because his abusive alcoholic father had been deemed unfit to taking care of him after his wife committed suicide when he was ten. They’re only two years apart but they annoy the shit out of each other most of the time and do an excellent job of showing it. The boy is fourteen yet acts like a baby most of the time, in her eyes. It doesn’t help that the two of them have to share a room along with Sarah because they’re the closest ages to each other.

“You told everyone?!” stormed Clem.

“What? That you ran away in the middle of the night and told me not to tell any—ow! Would you _stop_?!” he shrinks in his chair when she throws a second punch to his arm.

“Why would you do that? I thought you didn’t even care.” A part of her wouldn’t say she’s entirely surprised this happened. Word travels fast in this house. Or maybe the other kids just like to gossip about her.

“What’s the big deal, Clem? We all knew you weren’t gonna make it a day, anyway. Besides, you know how scary Christa can get,” explains Duck. “I wasn’t even gonna tell her in the first place but her eyes were like, fucking _piercing_ into my soul. Thought she was gonna start flipping tables if I didn’t tell her where you were.”

Clementine had risen from her bed the night before and stuffed as much as she could into her backpack while Sarah and Duck still slept in the room. It was four o’clock in the morning and still dark outside. She’d hoped to leave before the sun rose in the morning.

_“You’re leaving?” Duck asks in a sleepy voice once he notices Clem pushing open their bedroom window in the dead of night._

_She whips her head to see him sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes, Sarah still sound asleep in the opposite corner of the room. The cool breeze from the open window sends chills through her spine._

_Clementine sighs softly, acknowledging that she’d been caught despite her efforts to be as quiet as possible. “Go back to sleep, Duck,” she advises dismissively, whispering so as not to wake Sarah or anyone else in the house._

_Without waiting for further protest from him, she climbs out onto the roof and shuts the sliding window behind her._

Clementine scoffs at her brother’s story, rolling her eyes. “Whatever,” she mutters, turning the way she came. There’s no point in getting mad about it anymore. She would have been crazy to believe her plan would actually work this time.

As she leaves, she brushes past a bewildered Sarah who had been standing silent in the doorway.

* * *

Clementine flicks off the light as she walks out of the bathroom door and begins making her way back to her bedroom. It’s nearly midnight, but she doesn’t want to go to sleep yet. The lights are supposed to go out at nine every night, except for the older kids who can stay up as late as they please. Most of the time she just ends up sitting in bed with a book and a flashlight underneath the covers as the rest of the house goes to sleep.

The late evening is the only time this house is ever actually quiet, so Clementine enjoys this time of the day the most. It gives her time to think, and also space to be alone. She prefers it over being around her foster family.

When she strolls past the master bedroom, she can’t help but overhear Christa’s muffled voice on the other side of the door.

“ _I don’t know what to do about her, Omid. I’ve tried everything.”_

Clem slows to a stop, attempting to decipher what she’s saying.

“ _She won’t talk to me, she doesn’t listen, she won’t even look at me half the time_.” Christa lets out an exasperated sigh. “ _Maybe we should start home schooling her again_.”

All the foster kids are home schooled, it’s always been that way. It’s easier than everyone attending different public schools because of all the different ages. But she remembers when Omid and Christa had sat her down in the living room one day, going on about how they thought a different environment would be better for her, and that she’d be able to make a lot more friends that were her own age and had things in common with her once she started public school.

It’s bad enough that the kids at home already make fun of her, but it’s worse being the only one out of all of them that has to go to a different school because she ‘learns better’ that way.

They had told her it was what’s best for her, but didn’t give her much of a choice. It worked for a little while, until Omid and Christa started to realize that being around the other kids only got her into trouble, and that made no one else want to be around her.

“ _Christa, it’s not a good idea. You know how the other kids treat her.”_ Omid’s gentle voice doesn’t seem to calm the woman down.

“ _Well, what do you want me to do? If she stays home, she doesn’t talk to anyone. If she goes to public school, she gets into trouble. But it’s like no matter what, she still finds a way to get herself mixed up in something_.”

“ _I know Clementine has a little trouble fitting in, but that’s all it is. It’s… normal for kids her age. She just hasn’t found the right group of friends yet_.”

There’s a few moments of silence, and Clementine leans closer to the door so she can hear. “ _I don’t know what to do_ ,” blurts Christa. “ _I thought this school would be easy for her to make friends but…_ _nothing seems to be helping_.”

“ _Look, it’s not easy being the new kid. I was the new kid once, and nobody wanted to be my friend. But… after a while, you get used to it and you make friends. She just needs more time, that’s all_.” Omid asserts. “ _Plus, she’s at that age where everything seems like the worst thing in the world right now, so that can be really hard on a twelve-year-old girl_.”

“ _I don’t know, Omid_.” The long periods of silence prove how deep in thought the woman is.

“ _I’ll talk to her, okay_?” suggests Omid.

“ _She needs to clean up her act_ ,” Christa demands. Her voice then falters into one of fear, sounding as if she might cry. “ _I don’t want to have to send her away_.”

Clementine’s eyes widen and she steps away from the door. Her breath begins to feel heavy as fear grips her heart. They’re going to send her away? Where are they going to take her?

So many thoughts and possibilities begin to jumble in her mind. She just wanted to get out of here. When she left last night, she didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing. She just didn’t care anymore. She thought she couldn’t take another day in this house, or at the same school with the same bullies that are supposed to be her friends. But now the idea of being sent to a new home – a _special_ home, makes her want to stay here more than ever.

She’s heard about them before. Becca had once told her that that was where she _really_ belonged, but Clementine never imagined it could one day be true. She’s learned to block out everything that Becca says.

A huge part of her just wants to burst through that door and beg Omid and Christa not to, but with her heart racing and her mind clinging onto the worst possibility, Clementine sprints back into the bathroom and locks the door behind her, leaning her back against it. She can’t go back to her bedroom. She doesn’t want to risk Sarah and Duck hearing her cry.

Clem doesn’t know how she could be surrounded by so many people at once, yet still feel like there’s no one there at all. How is it possible to feel alone when you’re in a crowded room?

She never felt this way when her parents were alive. She loved school, and she loved her family. They loved her too, and now they’re gone. In one day, her entire life had changed just like that, and she didn’t even have a choice.

They’d left for a trip to Savannah when she was eight, but they just… didn’t come home after that. Then someone decided for her that they needed to be replaced. Replaced by strangers, strangers that will never love and care for her the way her _real_ parents did. Her entire life is fake. None of it is what it should have been.

At first, Clementine didn’t understand what had happened. She thought being brought here was only temporary, but it’s four years later and yet nothing has changed.

Her parents were all she had - all she really needed. She feels like she was left behind, and now she’s been left with nothing.

Clementine slides her back down the door and hugs her knees to her chest. Finally releasing the pain through her tears, she prays that nobody can hear her cry.


End file.
